Straining my ears for the arrival of the security guard, desperately worried that he’d call out, not hear my reply and leave, thinking it was a prank or a mistake. I could go some water right now… but then I might have to pee. Butt is becoming numb, but sitting on the floor feels safer. Standing I’m too strongly reminded of the fact that I’m suspended halfway up a building in a metal box, with only an echoey shaft below. Movement, in fact reminds me of this. The lift shifts and groans with each step.

… papers that I seriously need to read for my literature review. The perfect opportunity- no distractions, a chance to write up the acid extraction chapter which is presently being written on the under-consciousness frequency. No data! Correct referencing is my downfall- who said what, where’s the data, the facts girl! Intuition doesn’t cut it in chemistry.

I think I’m glad I’m alone in here- no forced conversation or the nervy farts of another digestive system, no-one to panic and plenty of room. Claustrophobia only hits me when I can’t stretch my legs or if my head’s trapped. I get vile panic attacks in sleeping bags.

Damn, running out of paper, now writing in the spaces between scribbled painting concepts. The array of visual shapes that are failing to come together in a new and coherent form.
I need to find some way of subtly defacing this lift, something to mark the time I’ve spent sitting here with my arse slowly numbing since getting up and stamping about is not an option I care to even think hard about.

Getting messages through to people is a pain in the arse. The box static doesn’t help, trying to convey that this has made me 2 hours late in starting my experiment and I may have to work through gym-time probably didn’t get through as intended. They’re going to think that I’m expecting to be stuck here for another two hours.